We were also invaded by the Dutch, during the second Anglo-Dutch war in 1667. Whilst only a minor skirmish, it did result in a number of small towns and villages situated on the banks of the River Medway being attacked by a Dutch raiding party.

As an aside, the village of Queenborough surrendered to the Dutch during this attack and was never returned back to the English in the resulting peace treaty, an amusing anomoly that remained until 1967 when a Dutch delegation returned to Queenborough and officially handed the village back, something the residents of Queenborough still celebrate.

To understand what is going on here, it probably helps to rephrase the question. No monolithic group of "historians" propounding a single view of British history, and the various invasions, raids, skirmishes and so on that feature in it, actually exists. Rather, there are groups of specialists in all the various periods you mention, who will have different perspectives on the significance of events – but probably relatively little interest in considering what constitutes a "successful" invasion. Then, pretty much completely outside that group, coming at the issue from a completely different perspective, and undoubtedly benefitting from that historical blind spot on the part of the professionals, there are the politicians, educators and agitators who attempt to use the history of Britain – and that of any other country, for that matter – for ideological ends.

Your question, you see, really dives into a messy public controversy about what it means to be "British" and how "glorious", or otherwise, British history has been. Very much the same controversies exist everywhere else as well, and, as I'm sure you're aware, there are plenty of political parties, nationalist groups, patriotic teachers and so on who are anxious to harness history to serve their own ends. Attempts by ideologically-motivated groups to gain some sort of control over the historical narrative is, indeed, one of the central issues that historians today face, and have faced for well over a century.

There is a very rich literature, in history and in politics, devoted to examining the ways in which historical narrative has been harnessed to nation-building projects; the seminal text of all seminal texts in this particular field is Benedict Anderson's Imagined Communities, which argues that the nations we live in today have constructed their own views of essentially non-existent pasts in order to create a shared sense of nationhood among their citizens. Creating this shared sense of national history has several positive outcomes for governments and nationalist groups, but, most crucially, it helps to effect a long-term transfer of personal loyalties, so that citizens substitute a feeling of belonging to a nation for the more local and regional loyalties that were common before the modern period (in Italian city-states, for instance, loyalties were often most potently engaged when it came to faction-fighting between contradas – neighbourhoods – something still evident today in the fierce passions that emerge in the running of Siena's biannual palio. It can be argued, in fact, that this process is the central and most crucial one that we can trace at work in transforming old-fashioned "patriotism", which certainly did exist in the medieval and early modern periods, into the more complex, and often more dangerous, nationalist tropes we're so familiar with today.

It would be too simplistic to view all such efforts as opportunistic, manipulative, and evil. Governments, particularly as they transformed their more limited medieval models and began to take on more recognisable forms in the early modern period, struggled to reliably muster the resources they needed to sponsor national projects, among them winning popular consent for significant taxation, for the recruiting and training of large conscripted armies – and for using those armies to seize colonies or fight wars against other nation-states. And they need not care too much if a smallish group of undergraduates and professional historians tell dissenting versions of the same story, so long as those accounts are restricted to little-read books and journals. It's only when such rows leach over into public discourse that the existence of variant accounts becomes a problem – as it has in the UK within the past few years, when a recent Minister of Education attempted to impose an explicitly "glorious", progressive, Whig view of British history on the national curriculum taught in all schools.

Encouraging feelings of pride and engagement in a nation's history and achievements was a potent way of obtaining this consent – and establishing a common national curriculum, and with it the opportunity to tell a unitary "national story", one of the most effective tools available to governments who needed to achieve these aims. See, for example, Eugen Weber's seminal work Peasants Into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France 1870-1914 for much more on this.

To answer your question more directly then, the pattern you trace is one imposed not by "historians" en masse but by politicians and educators – abetted by, and often aided by, individual historians, it's true – who seek to tell the "national story" in a way that inculcates pride in Britain's uniquely "triumphant" history. Specifically, the story of a people who have not been successfully invaded or conquered for seven or eight centuries was a useful one to tell when Britain faced the threat of invasion in the 19th and 20th centuries.

We can use this understanding to explain the ways in which the various invasions you run through have been dealt with in the public sphere. It has never really been possible for even the most nationalist of groups to dispute that the Norman Conquest had significant and long-lasting effects – so the narrative in this case tends to be one in which Britain benefits from the vigorous influx of ideas introduced by a manly, martial, invader (one which, moreover, was closely culturally related to the indigenous peoples of the time in any case – a much easier idea to "sell" than, say, subjugation by the Mongols.) So the Norman history taught in British schools today tends to emphasise the "progress" that resulted from the Conquest - the "introduction of feudalism", Domesday Book, castles, the creation of Middle English (and so eventually a vigorous modern English) as the result of the impact of Norman French on Anglo Saxon. And so on.

Later invasions, as your question suggests, are handled differently. Louis's triumph, and Mortimer's usurpation, are simply ignored, on the grounds that they were short-lived and had no significant long term impact on British history (something made far easier because the British national curriculum taught in schools leaps from the Normans straight to Magna Carta and then immediately on to the Wars of the Roses; I seriously doubt that one British adult in 10,000 even remembers (if they ever knew) that Louis's invasion occurred, or has heard anything about Edward II other than - perhaps - that his ineptitude resulted in disaster at the Battle of Bannockburn, and that he died with a red-hot poker in his anus.

And, as you're obviously already aware, the Glorious Revolution is not treated as an invasion at all, but rather as the outcome of a religious dispute, and the product of an invitation extended to William of Orange by parliament. As a key element in the victory of Protestantism over Catholicism, it fitted neatly into the narrative of progress and triumph to be taught in schools, and so was never forgotten, at school level, as the actions of Louis and Mortimer have been. But the use of the word "revolution" to describe the events of 1688-89, rather than "invasion" or even "rebellion", is certainly not accidental; nor is the descriptor "glorious", of course.